Roy's Favourite Things
by Dailenna
Summary: Roy appears to be doing work for once, but his reasons are revealed when Hawkeye momentarily leaves the office


**Disclaimer**: I do not own "My Favourite Things" from the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical "The Sound of Music". This version of the song, however, is completely original. The characters of this story belong to Arakawa Hiromu. OOCness is fully intended, and could only be running more rampant in my mind should I choose to make Roy gay. Which will not be happening (Royaaaaiiiiii!!!).

"**Roy's Favourite Things**" by **Dailenna**

The office of renowned slacker Roy Mustang was unusually quiet. His usual babysitter and motivator was at a loss as to why on earth he wasn't disrupting his subordinates with constant nattering or various attempts to avoid completing his workload. Silently, Hawkeye permitted herself to get up to go and make herself a cup of tea since he was not currently in need of her abilities.

Mustang's other office members glanced up at him in curious speculation.

"Sir," Breda finally ventured to the still working Mustang, "is something wrong? Why are you" - he paused for effect - "_working_?"

Roy looked up abruptly, his eyes seeming to be just coming into focus. "Huh?"

"You were writing like a lunatic, sir," Havoc said as he strolled forwards. Momentarily he leant over to look. "And if I'm not mistaken, it _is_ work, not merely furthering your worthy mini-skirt policy!"

A grin crept onto Roy's face. "I've discovered a way to do my work without even knowing it!" he announced in hushed tones, an edge of excitement rippling out in laughter. "Alleviates the boredom _and_ keeps Hawkeye happy."

Eyebrows were raised.

"I've decided a new tactic, men," Mustang announced, standing from his seat. "When presented with a scenario I dislike - whether it is work or any equally boring activity - I will simply think of another thing. Something I like. My favourite things, if you will."

The men looked at each other sceptically. "Like what . . ?"

Mustang took a moment to rub his chin. "Mmmmm. Let's see. No work," he propositioned. "Relaxing; weekends; the beach; a good glass of scotch." Oh yes, Mustang liked where this was going. He hadn't thought of most of these things yet, and it was giving him ideas of further motivational thoughts. If he added a tune to it, perhaps it would help him to remember it more accurately when he needed it for next time. "No paperwork, and classy new bars!" He took a step up onto his chair. "Ignition cloth gloves, and really fast cars!" Another step and he was on his desk. "Valentines chocolates and promising flings - these are a few of my favourite things!"

Feury, Havoc, Breda and Falman all looked at him in a mix of wonderment and horror, not sure whether to keep listening or to run down the hallway and call back Hawkeye from wherever she had disappeared to.

As he sung the next line, Mustang gave a great kick, scattering the papers that had been on his desk all over the floor. "Naps in the workplace when no-one is looking! Scattered romances and restaurant bookings!"

Havoc's eyes widened. If the rest of the song was to be like this - with these allusions to relationships - then, if he was quick enough, he might be able to pick up a few tips! In fact . . . he dived for a pen and paper, and scribbled down all he caught as Mustang sang.

"Seductive soft music played on brass and strings - these are a few of my favourite things!" Boldened by his thus far compliant audience, Mustang sang the next verse down to his subordinates louder still. "Women with long legs and short miniskirts! Smooth, flowing hair and a temptress who flirts! Lovers who sigh, but don't wait for a ring! - these are a few of my favourite things!"

If there was one man in that room - other than Mustang, who was too taken up in his own creative genius - not swiftly developing a nosebleed, he was yet to emerge.

"When her dog bites; when her gun stings; when Hawkeye is mad! I simply remember my favourite things, and then I don't feel so bad!"

"Does it really work?" Feury asked, eyes alight in wonder.

Mustang barked a short laugh. "You guys try it!"

"No murderous flatmate!" Falman cried.

"No stolen dates!" Havoc yelled gleefully.

"Stronger than Armstrong!" Breda smirked.

"Puppies' tails!"

A momentary silence fell over the room and each man turned to Feury with various looks of superiority. He blushed and ducked his head. Well, he was just a kid after all.

Roy grinned and jumping down from his desk, repeated his song as loudly and joyously as he could whilst capering around the room with his ever-loyal staff.

"No paperwork, and classy new bars! Ignition cloth gloves, and really fast cars! Valentines chocolates and promising flings - these are a few of my favourite things! Naps in the daytime when no-one is looking! Scattered romances and restaurant bookings! Seductive soft music played on brass and strings - these are a few of my favourite things! Women with long legs and short miniskirts! Smooth, flowing hair and a temptress who flirts! Lovers who sigh, but don't wait for a ring! - these are a few of my favourite things! When her dog bi- _oof!_"

They all stopped in horror. Mustang, in the midst of his prancing around the room had failed to notice the door opening, and had inadvertantly bowled over the entrant. Both of them currently sat on the floor, blinking their shocked little eyes - Mustang because his song had been so suddenly interrupted by the very person he was currently singing about, and the Lieutenant because she had just had near-to-scalding hot tea splashed all over the front of her uniform, and she had just dropped her . . . to avoid unnecessary repetition, let's say _most favoured_ mug, and it now lay in pieces on the floor beside her.

"What on earth do you mean by gallavanting all over the room the moment I leave?" she cried, picking herself up. "Have you no sense of decorum befitting men of your rank? Work times are to be strictly adhered to, unless you truly _wish_ to be working overtime!" Hawkeye took the opportunity to glare at each of them before refocussing her frightful gaze on Mustang again, where he was rising from the floor finally. "Now," she said in a quieter tone - quite possibly be more dangerous in the long run, "please excuse me while I go clean myself up. And get back to work, Colonel."

The men silently returned to their own desks.

All except Mustang, who watched his First Lieutenant as she walked away - only in his mind, what he was watching was that pair of legs under a miniskirt barely reaching mid-thigh to his intense satisfaction.

All that his men noticed of this was the faraway look and the tune on his lips as he returned to his work.


End file.
